


1013 Romeo

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Consensual Underage Sex, Depressing, Gay, M/M, Murphamy - Freeform, My First Smut, Smut, Tragedy, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22098829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Angst, fluff, smut. What more do you want? Seriously,  though, this a depressing mess. But the world is always in need of more Murphamy.Or, the one where Bellamy is a guard at the same prison where Murphy is awaiting his execution and they stupidly fall in love.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	1013 Romeo

Bellamy wished that he’d never enlisted. Without fail, that was his first thought each morning. The second he opened his eyes he wished he could travel back in time and find the ignorant, innocent version of himself that had existed merely three months prior. He would give him a real hard shake, ask him what the hell he was thinking.

The Militia owned his soul now, though, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d rather that he had gone ahead and made a deal with the devil, instead. His life would probably be of a more savory sort if he had.

But no. He had enlisted and now he spent his days bracing children for their deaths.

The prison was a terrible place. He couldn’t blame the kids that scrounged for shards of broken glass and chose to bleed out in their cells long before they came of age. He figured that living in that hellhole with bated breath, waiting for the day of your birth to roll around for the eighteenth time, was probably even worse than the actual dying bit. Knowing right when your life was set to end must make everything especially meaningless. Every breath you took just brought you nearer to the last that you would ever take. Though, he supposed that it was that way for everyone. Even him.

But he was on the other side of the bars, and thus, his life was supposedly marginally less meaningless. He wasn’t sure if he really believed that, though. He was certain that he had lost himself somewhere along the last three months. He had done things he would never be able to forget and they had left him all but a numb, vacant husk.

He just did what was asked of him now and refrained from asking questions. But he had enlisted, so really, as much as he wished he could wash away the blood on his hands and argue that he had just been following orders, he knew that he had ultimately brought this upon himself.

And he hated himself for it.

* * *

*******

A fight had broken out in the cafeteria. Fights weren’t uncommon, no, quite the opposite. And it wasn’t uncommon for Detainee 1013 to be involved, either. What was different, was that this time 1013 was being rushed to the medical wing in critical condition.

Bellamy was supposed to be taking his lunch break, an hour that he always relished and eagerly awaited the arrival of, but once news of 1013 reached him, his appetite had faded into the vast oblivion and he found himself nervously fidgeting outside of the quarters of Resident Clarke Griffin.

The second that she left her room, he stepped forward to block her path. “Clarke!”

She didn’t seem too terribly surprised to see him. She had probably become accustomed to his tendency to hang around and annoy the shit out of her by now. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and tried in vain to look like she loathed the sight of him. In all actuality, he knew that they were friends, though. Or at least, he hoped so, because she was one of the elite few working here that he was convinced still possessed the smallest inkling of morality within them. Either way, he felt like he could ask her for a small favor without getting scoffed at or reported.

“I want you to let me into the infirmary. Just for a second.”

“Why? Don’t think you can circumvent my mother’s authority by coming here and asking me this.”

Bellamy sighed and reluctantly offered her a nod, intending for it to be a placating gesture of his good-will. “I would never,” he told her, his tone dripping with mock-offense. “But really, this isn’t a big deal, so could you just let me in? We both know you’re gonna cave, and I’d rather you hurry it up so I can get in there before my break is over.”

Her eyebrows arched together with irritation, which he was now fairly positive was of the genuine sort, but she shrugged her shoulders and mumbled, “I don’t know why the hell I let you walk all over me like this.”

“Because you can’t resist my charm and dashing good looks.”

“Good looks, maybe. But charm? Please. You’re just a bubbling mass of conceit and stupidity.” She began walking down the dimly lit, grey halls, her dirty white coat and tightly bound blonde locks swishing with the sway of her hips. He hurriedly followed after her, relief throbbing through his heart.

“Your words wound, Princess, but actions speak louder, and I thank you for yours.”

She rolled her eyes at him as she unlocked the door to Med Bay with her key and tugged it open, holding it so that he could slip inside. “You owe me, Blake.”

The door slammed behind him and he ran a sweaty hand through his loose, limp hair, praying that he could manage to stay out of sight of Abby while he was in the infirmary. Unfortunately, his luck was of the imaginary sort, and thus the doctor was already staring him down with harsh scrutiny in her tired eyes. “Clarke let you in, I presume?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, then make it quick. If Kane catches you in here, he’ll have all our heads. What are you here for?”

Bellamy breathed a quick breath of pure, unadulterated relief before he awkwardly mumbled out, “1013?”

Abby’s features twisted into a grimace and she curtly nodded her head as she beckoned for him to follow. “Sometimes I wonder why I work so hard to keep these kids alive just so that we can kill them such a short time later.” She stopped at the foot of the bed and cast her eyes down onto the boy lying atop it. “This is one of those time. He only has two more months and yet I’ve spent hours trying to keep enough blood inside of his body to let him make it through the night.” Her hand drifted out to rest lightly on the blanket covering the boy’s lower body and an almost wistful expression poured over her features. “He’s been here for years, though, so I know him better than I do most of them. But, I suppose you must know him pretty well yourself to have gone through the trouble of coming here.”

Bellamy slowly meandered towards the edge of the bed, his footfalls laborious as trepidation and anxiety served to stiffen his joints. He stared down at the boy, itching to brush away a strand of his unkempt, greasy brown hair that was clinging to his forehead, but feeling too nervous to touch him. He knew that if 1013 were conscious he would be cussing him to hell right about now, and if he tried to touch the boy’s hair while he was awake he was liable to lose a hand. But 1013 looked so peaceful and young in that moment. Like he could be any seventeen year-old, even one with friends and a future. Like he was a seventeen year-old who maybe stood a shot at making it past eighteen. “No, not really. I think…he just sort of reminds me of myself.”

“Angry and at odds with the world?” Abby asked, her lips quirking up into a melancholy grin as her eyes settled on the hand that Bellamy had left idly hovering above the prisoner.

Bellamy returned her grin as he awkwardly dropped his hand back down to his side. “Maybe. Can’t say I’m too happy with the world right now.” He paused, the corners of his lips drooping drastically as he surrendered to his impulses and hurriedly brushed the strand of hair off of the boy’s face. He could feel Abby’s eyes, hard and scrutinizing, but it couldn’t be helped. He wanted to touch 1013’s smooth, warm skin at least once before the warmth was sucked of his skin and his life was ripped from his body. “So is he?”

“Is he what?”

“Going to make it through the night?”

The harsh lines in Abby’s face dissipated as she gave him a decisive nod. “Yes, he should be just fine now.” She fell silent, unease clear in her eyes as she silently regarded him for a moment. “Bellamy, caring about these kids is a terrible, terrible thing. There was this girl once…Detainee 1525, Opal York…She was a wonderful child, brilliant, beautiful, so much like Clarke. She could have accomplished so much in this life, could have been so much, but instead she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and was arrested for possession of methamphetamine. For two years she was almost like a second daughter to me…and then she turned eighteen. I was so desperate I went to Kane and begged him to make an exception, but of course, he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because there are no exceptions, Bellamy, and in two months 1013 _will_ be executed, and you’d be so much better off if you don’t allow yourself to care.”

Bellamy took a deep breath and tried to forget the knot of gnawing pain in his gut. “I know,” he whispered, his voice far too weak and fragmented for the words to convey what he had intended them to.

“Then you should leave,” Abby whispered back, stepping nearer to him so that she could set a gentle hand down on his shoulder.

He kept his eyes firmly locked on the still body in the bed for a passing second more before he forced himself to turn away and walk out of the room. He didn’t let himself look back.

* * *

***

Two days later 1013 was back in his cell.

Bellamy found the whole situation ridiculous, as the boy was in obvious pain. Which made a great deal of sense, given that for a brief period of time his stomach had been split open and his blood had poured down to permanently stain the cafeteria floor. Two days hadn’t been nearly long enough for him to heal. But still, there were only two months left, so Bellamy figured that it didn’t really matter much whether he healed properly or not. And, besides that, it was better if he didn’t spend the short time he had left stranded in the infirmary, anyway.

Bellamy made time after his shift ended to visit his cell the day he was returned to it . Visiting a detainee while off-duty definitely broke some sort of code of conduct, but though he searched high and low, he couldn’t find any shits to give.

“Nice to see you with your insides back where they belong, 1013.”

“You know my fucking name. Use it, asshole.”

But Bellamy couldn’t. For some reason he had gotten it in his head that the second the boy’s given name left his lips it would all be over. He would have crossed the line and the damage would be irrevocable. Using his designated number was safe, it kept a distance between them. A distance that Bellamy badly needed.

“Not gonna happen. Detainees are stripped of their identities upon arrest.”

“Stop quoting the official handbook of fucking sheeple, Blake. I’m so damn sick of this 1013 shit. I’m not a fucking number.”

Bellamy couldn’t agree more, honestly. Reducing the youth here to numbers was a repugnant show of disrespect towards a group of people who were already being robbed of far too much. Bellamy wanted to give 1013 his name back, he really did, but Abby had told him not to care and he already cared too much. Too much for a boy who he only had two more months with.

“I know,” he whispered, leaning closer to the bars between them, as his fingers curled around the cold metal. “It’s just a title, though, don’t sweat it.”

1013 shifted forward on his cot, rolling his eyes at Bellamy as he absentmindedly stretched his arms out in front of him. “Yeah, well, I’ve been called by that _title_ so damn long that sometimes I have to remind myself what my own name is.”

Almost six years. 1013 had lived in this rotting pile of death and depression for almost six years. Bellamy didn’t dare imagine how terrified the boy must have been when he was merely twelve years old, being shoved behind bars and told to wait six years for the day that poison would be injected into his veins.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Bellamy thought he saw 1013’s soft, full lips nearly imperceptibly lift at the corners for a quarter of a second and he decided to count it as a personal win. “Whatever, Juliet. That play is stupid.”

“How so?”

“They’re both melodramatic idiots who choose to drink poison ‘cause they’re hopelessly in love with someone they just met like four fucking days ago.”

Bellamy laughed and nodded his head in a show of agreement. “Can’t say you don’t have a valid point. Though, Juliet actually stabs herself, because Romeo drank poison, she doesn’t die from poison herself.”

“ _God_ , who the hell cares?” 1013 whined, flopping onto his back on the bed and positioning himself so he was staring up at the ceiling. “You completely missed my point.”

“No, your point is that they were lucky enough to have a choice, but you don’t.”

The boy reached one of his arms up towards the distant ceiling, splaying his fingers out as he gazed up at it. “No, Blake, my point was that Romeo and Juliet desperately needed some chill.” He dropped his arm back onto the bed with a sigh before he lifted his body back up so that he could see Bellamy, a soft hiss of pain escaping his lips from the momentum of the movement.

“Why do you keep pulling shit like this?”

“Shit like what?”

“Getting in fights, getting yourself carved open like a turkey, what’s the point?”

“I’m offended that you think I chose to get carved open like a turkey. I’d say this one’s completely on Dax, violent little shit.”

“You aggravated him and we both know it. Drop the act.”

“I think it’s my face, really. Don’t you think I have an aggravating face?”

Bellamy could have told him that he didn’t think that he did. Not at all. He could have told him that he thought he had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, like an ocean trying to extinguish a hungry bonfire. He could have told him that his features were so sharp, he thought it plausible that the boy had been chiseled out of wood. He could have even told him that he thought he was fascinating to look at and that, at times, it was extremely difficult for him to reclaim his own set of captivated eyes. But, of course he didn’t say anything of that sort, because that would be a direct violation of his effort to keep 1013 out of his head and at arm’s length.

“Seriously, tell me why you let 416 stab you with a glass shard. Please, I want to know.”

1013’s lips curled with irritation as his eyebrows ducked nearer to each other. “Because, I like Med Bay, okay? Sometimes Griffin acts like she gives a shit, and that’s kinda nice. I didn’t mean to almost die, though. But it’s not like it woulda mattered if I had.”

“It would have mattered. Two months is…is better than nothing.”

“No it isn’t. I just want to get this shit over with already.”

“Now you sound like a Shakespearean tragedy.”

“If I was, it’d be a fucking boring play. Boy sits around in a cell for six years doing absolutely nothing, boy dies. No one’d want to see it.”

“I’d see it.”

“How very comforting.”

“Abby isn’t the only one who gives a shit, you know?” Bellamy regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. He wished he could snag them from the air and shove them back into his vocal chords. He was dancing on the line and rapidly eating away at the distance between them. The distance that he needed in order to keep functioning properly.

The two tossing seas of 1013’s eyes widened and his chiseled features softened to the point where Bellamy changed his mind and decided that maybe they had been sculpted out of clay, instead. Sculpted by a God. And a talented one, at that. “Blake…” he whispered, his typically abrasive voice far more hushed than Bellamy had ever heard it. “Your shit is doomed to sink. I’d advise you to retract it while you still can.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes, unable to continue gazing into the expansive, painfully expressive eyes on the other side of the slim bars. He squeezed his hands into fists, digging his jagged nails into the tough flesh of his palms. “I know...You’re right. I need to…” He leaned upwards, straightening out his body and struggling to compose himself before he forced himself to turn around and walk away. He didn’t let himself look back.

* * *

***

Bellamy managed to keep away from 1013’s cell for a meager three days’ time. He knew his actions were unbelievably imprudent, but the first week of the last two months was disappearing right before his very eyes and he just felt like every day that he didn’t visit the boy was a day wasted. A day he’d never get back, and he regretted the three that he has already so carelessly discarded.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Juliet. Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Bellamy kneeled down on the hard, metal ground outside of the cell and rested his bottom on the heels of his heavy boots. He drooped forward so that his forehead was pressed against the bars, their metallic chill seeping down into his bones. “Right, because you’re so irresistible, Romeo.”

“I must be, ‘else why would you be here?” 1013 was smiling at him and Bellamy adored the sight of it. He wished that the boy would get up off of his cot and sit up against the bars like he was. He wished that he could touch him again, however chaste and brief. Whatever physical contact the bars would permit, he yearned for it.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, because 1013 was right, and he was void of a valid argument as to why he wasn’t. “I don’t know,” he finally whispered, his cheeks flushing pink as it occurred to him how lame he sounded. Half of him was still berating himself over his stupid decision to come here, and the other half was rejoicing at seeing those blue, blue eyes, still so gloriously full of light and life.

“Does it make me a selfish bastard that I’m glad you’re here?” 1013 finally whispered, breaking Bellamy out of his reverie and sending his heart into a spiral.

“No. I’m glad you’re glad I’m here.”

“Well, it’s only ‘cause I don’t get many visitors, ya know?” A playful smirk tugged at the boy’s lips and Bellamy’s own lips lifted into a grin at the sight of it.

“I think it’s because you like me.”

“I shouldn’t.”

And by any man’s logic, he was right. 1013 had every right to hate him, but Bellamy was elated that by some benevolent miracle the other boy seemed to, beyond all rationality, rather enjoy his company. “You know, if I had any authority whatsoever I would get you the fuck out of this place.”

“Too bad you don’t.”

“Too bad I don’t.”

“Blake, I don’t normally say stupid emotional shit like this, but given that you’re a stupid, emotional shit, I’ll make an exception. Me dying? That has nothing to do with you. I was doomed five and a half years before you turned up here, so stop acting so damn guilt-ridden all the time, you damn fool.”

Bellamy could feel his heartbeat quicken as his throat became a congested bundle of rough, raw vocal chords. He could feel moisture collecting along the rims of his eyes and he had to wage a conscious war to keep big, wet, sloppy tears from tumbling down his speckled cheeks. “I just...I think I might miss you.”

1013 smiled fondly at him and shifted his body so that his legs were draping down to the floor. He stood up slowly and walked towards the bar between them, every muscle in Bellamy’s body tensing in anticipation. “Well, parting _is_ such sweet sorrow and shit.” He dropped down onto the hard ground across from Bellamy, his vast eyes like blue flames casting shadows in the dim light.

Bellamy reached his hands up so that his fingers poked through the gaps in-between the bars, and to the great joy of his eager heart, 1013’s hands came up to meet them. Their fingers curled around each other’s, interlocking as best they could, given the barrier between them. “That’s my line.”

“Sorry, Juliet.”

Bellamy grinned at him as he tightened his grip on his hands. They were so much softer than he had anticipated, and the smoothness of his skin served to remind him that this boy was truly just that, a boy. A boy such as him, but one condemned. “Give me my Romeo; and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night.”

“You really have that dusty old thing memorized from cover to cover, don’t you, Blake?”

“You’re ruining the moment, Romeo.”

1013 laughed and smiled so widely his teeth were momentarily exposed. Bellamy adored the sight of it. “Mmm, would you rather I said...” one of his hands slid away from Bellamy’s, leaving him bewildered and longing, “O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.” Bellamy felt the radiating warmth even before the boy’s lithe fingers gingerly ghosted over his face. The sensation of 1013’s silken hand brushing along the skin of his cheek was enough to send tender chills of yearning up and down his spine.

“For a guy who’s been in here since he was twelve, you know that dusty old thing pretty well, yourself.”

“Not much to do when you’re locked in a cell, Blake. I’ll read whatever I can get my hands on.”

Bellamy opened his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue, words that he barely managed to restrain himself from saying. Words that could have ruined everything. _“Call me Bellamy.”_ Right, because that would be a fair request for a boy who he was still referring to as a number. The thought jerked him back into reality quick enough to give him a severe case of whiplash.

_Caring about these kids is a terrible, terrible thing._

_Less than two months._

_What the hell was he doing?_

Damning himself. Setting himself up for grief and heartbreak. Relishing the sight, sound, and touch of a complex, beautiful boy.

He was screwed for sure, but he was already so damn head over heels, he wasn’t certain that he would ever be able to sort himself out again even if he wanted to. And he wasn’t certain that he wanted to.

The prison was nearly pitch-black now, though, and he knew that if he lingered any longer a night guard would surely show up to shoo him away, or worse. So with a heart of heavy reluctance, he whispered, “I think I should probably go. But I swear that I’ll come back the first chance I get.”

1013 nodded his head in understanding, the gesture difficult for Bellamy to discern through the settling darkness. “Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I’ll descend.”

Bellamy’s breath hitched and he couldn’t help the disbelieving smile that seized his lips as he dipped his head down towards the bars, towards 1013’s own impatiently waiting lips. He tilted his head to the side so that his mouth nestled into one of the open slits and closed his eyes as he felt the other boy’s mouth come up to meet his. It was awkward, and bumbling. Inexperienced, and sloppy. Yet so very pure and perfect. A moment that would play on loop in Bellamy’s brain for days, months, years to come. A transcendent, dazzling moment that he wished he could reenact with this transcendent, dazzling boy for days, months, years to come. “Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

* * *

*******

Six weeks until 1013 was inexorably fated to turn eighteen. Six weeks until his execution.

The last few days Bellamy had simply taken to trying real hard not to think about it too much. He’d resigned to spend as much time with the boy as possible, and to make as much out of their time as possible.

“Why’d you enlist?” 1013 lazily asked him, lying on his stomach on his cot and gazing at him with a tired expression through the bars of his cell.

Of course, the main reason had been to make his family look like the very embodiment of patriotism and lawfulness. Just a hardworking single mother and her dedicated soldier of a son. No daughters hidden beneath the floorboards, no, Sir. No lovely, caring younger sisters whose very existence was a carefully guarded secret that he would do anything to keep.

This was not an answer that he could offer 1013, however. This was not an answer that he could ever permit to slip out from between his lips. “I thought I was doing a good thing.”

“Population control is that important to you?”

“No.” He hated population control. Yes it was necessary. Yes the world was already suffering from so many years without it, and they were living on an Earth that had endured generations of exponential growth overexerting its land and greedily using up nonrenewable resources. And yes the oxygen outside was so thick with noxious pollution the phrase _“fresh air”_ had become laughable. But population control was the cause of all the awful things in his life. The reason why his sister had to hide, his mom had to prostitute herself, and his heart was set to burst into a thousand fragmented slivers six weeks from now. Selfishly, he’d rather the whole world suffer than those he cared so dearly for. “It’s not, but I guess I just wanted to be a model citizen.”

1013 scoffed and rolled his baby blue eyes. “And how’s that going for you, Blake?”

“You mean other than caring way too much about a criminal? Pretty good.” He paused, wondering if he was allowed to ask a personal question too. The other boy had asked him one, so he figured that it was only fair that he be granted the same privilege. After all, there was so little time left to get to know the boy. To commit every seemingly insignificant piece of him to memory. “Hey, can I ask why you were arrested?”

“You don’t know? Thought you read my file or some shit.”

“Please, you think I have access to files? Don’t flatter me.”

1013 grinned at him and shrugged his shoulders before dropping his elbows back down onto the bed and plopping his head atop his upturned palms. “Fine. Then to answer your question, I started a fire.”

Bellamy couldn’t keep from mirroring his grin as his eyebrows rose with intrigue and he asked in a hushed tone, “What’d you burn?”

“The living quarters of a member of the Militia.”

“Why?”

The smile on the younger boy’s face flickered and died away before he fell silent for a moment and bit down on his bottom lip as his features contorted with emotion. “He, umm...He arrested my father. And ya know, got him executed and all. For...Well, I had a real bad flu and he stole meds for me, not even the right kind of meds, the fool...but my parents had thought I was probably gonna die, so he tried to save my life and was killed for it. So I started a fire. And now here I am, about to be killed for it.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened and the corners of his lips took an immediate nosedive. And here he’d been thinking that Pop Laws had ruined _his_ life. “I’m so sorry...”

1013 shrugged again and forced his lips into an uncomfortably taut smile. “It’s whatever. I think the real take away, is that my family was composed of a bunch of idiots.”

“Your mom?”

“Alchie, drank nearly nonstop until one day she choked on her own vomit. But only after telling me that I was responsible for my dad’s death, mind you. Thanks, mom.”

“Shit...what a bitch.”

The boy burst out laughing, a strained, morbid sort of laugh, but one that was still music to Bellamy’s ears. “Kinda. Near the end she was, yeah.” He paused before crawling forward on the bed, dangling his hand down to reach through the bars for Bellamy’s. Their fingers swiftly intertwining once more, a comfort that they were now both well-accustomed to. “What ‘bout your family?”

Bellamy winced, wishing he could’ve been so lucky as to evade this particular question. “Never knew my father. My mom’s pretty great, though, she’s a seamstress.” _And I have a little sister named Octavia, who’s honestly just the light of my life and I wish that you weren’t dying and that she wasn’t a secret so that the two of you could meet sometime. That’d be just swell._

“You miss ‘er?”

Bellamy nodded his head, though, in truth he missed Octavia a hundred times more. “A bit, yeah. Mostly because I hate it here.”

“Rude.”

“Aside from you! Obviously, idiot. But I hate being here knowing that...I’m just helping keep kids in-line until the day they’re murdered.”

1013 grinned at him and gave his hand a gentle squeeze as he whispered, “Wanna know a secret? I hate it here too.” And Bellamy’s heart fucking crumbled like pound cake. “Although I guess I’ll be gettin’ out of this place pretty soon. And who knows, maybe there really is somethin’ after. Somewhere with my dad and bitch mom. Somewhere without pain or Pop Laws.”

Bellamy ached to encircle him in his arms, to cloak him in a blanket of bodily warmth, and tell him that everything would be okay. But he couldn’t. Because, there were bars between them, and nothing was going to be okay. So, instead he feebly whispered, “Maybe there is...I _hope_ that there is.”

“When you get there fifty or so years from now, look me up, ‘kay?”

Bellamy’s lips curled upwards and he hastily nodded his head. “Will do.”

“Good. That’s settled, then.”

* * *

***

Sometimes Bellamy was spared the seemingly eternal monotony of being tasked with patrolling the empty hallways of the prison and gazing into the Detainees’ cells to make sure they weren't up to anything, which they never were, and was granted the comparatively exciting privilege of lunch duty. This was to be the first time that he was assigned such a task since getting to know 1013, and he was unreasonably overjoyed. Some tucked away delusional slice of himself was entertaining fantasies of whisking 1013 away to the furthest recesses of the cafeteria and embracing him like he had never before been able to. And an even more sickeningly optimistic piece of his mind began to imagine that maybe this opportunity would provide him with a chance to sneak 1013 out of this metal deathtrap and run far, far away with him.

When his lunchtime shift finally did roll around, he found himself standing with his back against the wall near one of the entrances, gun in hand, and eyes restlessly searching. He began to grow impatient and disappointed as his proactive eyes turned up lackluster results. He couldn’t see 1013 anywhere.

But then someone coming through the door behind him purposefully brushed against his shoulder with their own and Bellamy glanced over to see 1013 smiling widely at him as he strolled passed, playing it casual as he made his way towards the disorganized lines of his fellow prisoners. Bellamy blissfully smiled back at him for a moment, before it occurred to him that there were plenty of other members of the Militia present in the large room and he would do well not to act so buddy-buddy with a Detainee.

But really, what was the worst they could write him up for? It wasn’t a crime to smile at one of the imprisoned teenagers, nor was it a crime for him to march deeper into the cafeteria, his legs propelling him forward like he was a mindless zombie on the prowl for brain matter.

It took a few minutes, but eventually 1013 emerged from the lines with a tray in his hands and a lost expression on his face. Bellamy was enthralled by the sight of him, but he had to maintain the façade of one who actually gave a shit about their job, so he paced back and forth through the aisles between the tables, weapon gripped tight and expression steely, even as his eyes remained fixed on 1013.

The boy appeared to be looking for a table and Bellamy couldn’t prevent a fleeting clip of the two of them sitting together in his old high school cafeteria, laughing and flicking spaghetti noodles at each other, from playing out inside his head. The thought stung him, as it caused him to wonder how much different, how much _better_ , things could’ve been had they met under different circumstances.

1013 didn’t seem to notice Bellamy’s eyes on him as he finally settled on a seat at one of the few small tables that were still entirely vacant. Bellamy ached to sit down next to him, and before he had a clue what he was doing his zombie legs had already guided him to the table. “Hey, Romeo,” he whispered, sitting down on the metal chair next to the younger boy. All of the chairs were nailed to the floor, to prevent them from being used as projectiles, of course, but if they weren’t, Bellamy probably would’ve scooted his closer to 1013’s.

“Eh, Blake. Come here often?”

“Not actually, no. It’s rare for me to be assigned to this post.”

“Can’t imagine why that is, what with you being so attentive and setting your gun on the table next to one of the prisoners and all.”

Bellamy grinned at him even as his cheeks flushed and he reached to wrap his fingers around the butt of his gun once more. “Whoops.” He felt oddly nervous and his eyes flickered down towards the tabletop in order to avoid the boy’s vibrant, vivacious gaze. He noticed for the first time how paltry the prisoners’ daily rations were and frowned at the meager stockpile of mushy foodstuffs covering 1013’s plate. He couldn’t so much as guess at what sort of food it was intended to be, and for once he felt grateful for the slightly superior meals he was granted as a member of the Militia.

1013 began to eat the paste without a second thought, though. Prisoners couldn’t afford to be picky, Bellamy reasoned. And besides, the boy had been here so long that he likely couldn’t even really remember what real, solid food tasted like, anyway.

Bellamy silently watched him for a moment, content just to be in his presence, until the urge to take advantage of the time of finite freedom being offered to them became too powerful to ignore.

Practicing far less caution than he should have been enlisting, he rested his head down on 1013’s shoulder and gazed at him through woodsy brown eyes that had never before been in such close proximity to ocean blue ones. The younger boy instantly stopped eating and inaudibly dropped his plastic spoon onto his paper plate. He eyed Bellamy quizzically as an amused smirk vied for control of his lips. “Ya know you’re gonna get both of us killed actin’ like this, don’t you? I mean, not that it matters much in my case, but I’d rather you didn’t join me, Juliet.”

Bellamy grinned, flippantly ignoring his prudent words as he snaked his arms around the boy’s glaringly small waist. “I’ve always wanted to hug you.”

1013 tensed in his hold for a moment, surprise elevating his eyebrows as the corners of his lips swerved in opposite directions, as though he couldn’t decide whether he should grin or grimace. “You drunk? You seem drunk.”

“Hey! No, I am not _drunk_. I’m just… _sad_.”

The younger boy sighed, shifting in his seat to face him properly and gracelessly flung his own arms around Bellamy. “What for, Blake? Today’s nothin’ special. Still have a month.”

Bellamy shook his head, mouth fluttering open with disbelief. “Fuck, do you hear yourself? A month!?”

1013’s eyes narrowed and he dropped his arms away from Bellamy. “Yes. A fuckin’ month. Take it or leave it.”

Bellamy sighed, running his fingers back through his vaguely greasy hair. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that, I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. Of course I’ll take it. Every moment of it.” His own arms were still around the other boy, and he kept holding him tight, refusing to let go of his squirming form.

“Good,” 1013 mumbled petulantly, moodily sticking his spoon in his mouth and keeping silent for a moment as he sucked the food off of it. Once he set it back down on his plate, he too sighed, relaxing into Bellamy’s hold once more. “Blake…Have you ever…” He shook his head, as though trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were currently clouding it. “Never mind.”

“No, come on, you can ask me whatever it is,” Bellamy assured him, simultaneously curious and worried about what the other had been about to say.

1013 glanced over at him with a dubious glint in his eyes before he noncommittally shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just…have you ever seen one of the um…one of the executions here?” His voice was shaking with something impossible to mistake. Something that broke Bellamy’s heart.

Fear. The boy was scared, and God, who could blame him?

“No, I wouldn’t want to see that,” he said hurriedly and truthfully, fervently shaking his head and reaching out his hand to grasp the convict's and give it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“Oh.” 1013 sounded disappointed. Bellamy couldn’t really imagine why that was.

“W-why do you ask?” he wondered aloud, needing to know the answer.

“I wanted to know if it hurts. If it’s a painful way to go out, ya know?” 1013 laughed shakily, Bellamy didn’t know what he could possibly find funny about their current conversation, but he didn’t begrudge him his out of place laughter.

“I’ve heard it isn’t. Abby says they use the most humane means possible.”

“Right, I’m sure,” 1013 mumbled, his doubt made obvious by his tone. “But Blake, even if you don’t want to see it, will you…just…be there for mine? Please?”

Bellamy felt his blood run cold and his first impulse was to shake his head and refuse with every fiber of his being, but he knew he couldn’t do that, that’d he’d be an irrefutable asshole if he did. But yet, the thought of agreeing was still almost too much to bear. “God, I don’t think...” He was tearing-up now; he couldn’t help it. He wanted to bury his face in his hands and full on weep, but instead he had to settle for tearing-up.

“Please, I need you there, so I can see your face while they…ya know…please,” the boy repeated, looking at Bellamy with pleading eyes. There were tears rolling down both of their cheeks now, and this moment was a nightmare Bellamy wished he could wake up from. He’d been so excited for his lunch duty. He hadn’t expected it to turn out like this. To be so damn painful.

“Of course, yeah. If it means that much to you, I’ll be there,” Bellamy whispered, squeezing 1013’s hand so hard he was sure the grip must be hurting the boy, at least a bit, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed all the contact he could get. He wasn’t the one most in need of comfort, he knew, but yet he was desperate for it.

1013 opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could get any words out, Bellamy felt a hard, painful thud on his back.

“What the hell are you doing, Bellamy?” It was one of his fellow guards, because of course it was. He was surprised no one had taken notice of his extremely odd, suspicious behavior before now. Hell, he still had his arms around 1013, and to make matters even worse, he was visibly crying. He was all but screwed, except, thank God luck was on his side for once, and the person who’d caught him just so happened to be his only acquaintance among the guards.

“Miller…Please, don’t tell anyone about this,” he whispered urgently, praying that Nathan was fond enough of him that he wouldn’t immediately go and report him. He thought they got on pretty well and Miller didn’t seem to be an authority-loving ass-kisser or anything, but one could never be too sure of anything.

“Wasn’t going to, but you’re conspicuous as shit, would it kill you to practice a little caution?”

Bellamy breathed a heavy sigh of relief and nodded his head, knowing that Miller was right. He quickly wiped away the moisture from his eyes and cheeks and released his hold on 1013.

Miller kept watching him for a moment, before he simply nodded, something like empathy, or perhaps understanding, shining through in his gaze before he walked away to leave the other two alone again.

“Shit, that was a close call,” 1013 muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You need to get outta here, I don’t want you to get relocated or something because of this. It'd really suck to spend my last few weeks without you.”

Bellamy smiled sadly at him and nodded once more. He finally let go of the other boy’s hand and rose to his feet, leaning down to somewhat-covertly kiss the crown of his head before he turned tail and walked away, intending to actually do his job for the rest of his shift.

* * *

***

“At least call me by my fucking last name. There’s no damn point in you not doing it now.” He was right, of course. Somehow, he usually was. At first he had refused to use his name for a selfish, douchey, but understandable purpose, now though, his resolve was simply stupid, bordering on ridiculous. 

“God. Fine. It’s…Murphy, right?”

“Yeah. John Murphy. Most people have always just called me Murphy, anyway, though.”

“Well it suits you.”

“At least more than a fucking number does, yeah,” Murphy mumbled, leaning back against the wall of his cell and crossing his arms over his chest.

The boy had been steadily changing lately. Growing tenser, angrier, by the day. There were only four weeks left, and the extremely finite nature of their relationship was harder than ever to ignore. Bellamy wanted to relish the rest of their time, bask in how much he loved the other boy, but Murphy seemed more keen on cussing the world out and telling Bellamy where he could shove his poignancy.

“I’m sorry, about that, about not using your name all this time, Murphy…” And he honestly was. He wished that he hadn’t wasted so much time being such a prick, he really did.

“It doesn’t really matter, Blake,” Murphy told him, sighing, tilting his head up towards the ceiling and closing his eyes. “I wonder what they’re going to do with my ashes. No one will want them.”

Bellamy was admittedly, quite caught off guard by the sudden morbidity and felt a chill travel down his spine. “I would.”

“But you’ll be too much of a coward to ask for them or anything. They’ll just toss them out with the trash. I wonder why I was even born. Just to be caged for six years and then thrown away? Where’s the point in that?”

“Why are any of us born? There’s really no point in any of it,” Bellamy whispered, feeling distinctly depressed now. He wasn’t even offended that Murphy had called him a coward, because he couldn’t deny that he was right on the money there.

“Bell, I love you. I figure I should tell you that now, huh?” Murphy opened his eyes, tilted his head forward, let his feet touch the floor, took a few steps forward, and propped himself right in front of Bellamy with only the bars to separate them again.

Bellamy was surprised by the new nickname, but he was even more surprised by the words that had followed it. “I love you, too, Murph,” he whispered, curling his fingers around the bars and wishing that he was on the other side of them, with his boy in his arms. “A whole lot.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I’m gonna die, Bell.”

“It's not your fault. Not at all. And I chose to love you, Murphy. And I’m glad that I got the chance to.” Bellamy wasn’t sure if he meant the last bit. Every morning that he woke up now it was a little harder to breathe, knowing that with every morning he was closer to what he so dreaded. Loving Murphy hurt worse than any pain he could have ever imagined. He almost wished he had never allowed himself to become this attached, that he had listened to Abby, but it was far too late for all that. Regret it as he might, he still loved Murphy. He couldn’t change that now. He knew he’d still be loving the boy after he was dead. His love was set to transfigure into grief, and he wondered if he’d even be able to survive the weight of it.

“Well, thanks. I’m glad you do, too, even if I know that makes me a selfish bastard.”

“It doesn’t.”

* * *

***

“So. Can we talk about it now?”

Ugh, please no. Bellamy had been dreading this. He’d hoped Miller had forgotten all about what he’d seen by now and would never, ever bring it up in conversation. 

“Really rather not,” he told him, trying his best to laugh it all off.

“Bellamy, I know what that was, man. I know what I saw.”

“If you already know, then why do we have to talk about it? I don’t want to.” He knew that he was being too abrasive and sounded somewhat aggressive, but Murphy was rubbing off on him and he too was becoming even more pissed off at the world than he usually was. He found himself constantly wanting to punch something, or someone, now.

Miller sighed, sounding put out and annoyed. He glanced over at Bellamy, rolled his eyes and took a bite of his sandwich. He wiped a bit of mayo off his lip before he finally spoke again. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry about your situation is all.”

Bellamy was still peeved, but he felt bad about his temperamental tantrum now, at least. “It’s alright,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m the one who got myself into this mess in the first place. I deserve what’s coming. I mean, he doesn’t, but…I don’t deserve to act like a victim here.”

Miller’s gaze was filled with genuine pity now. “You can’t help who you fall for,” he told him. “You really can’t.”

“I shouldn’t have fallen for anyone, then. I wish I hadn’t. He wants me to go watch him die, Miller. In three weeks I have to watch the boy I love get fucking injected with poison! I can’t fucking do this!” Forget lunch. Fuck lunch. Fuck the world. He hurried to his feet and made his way out of the break room, knowing full well that he’d made a scene and acted like an idiot. Again, though, he couldn’t find any shits to give.

* * *

***

“Bellamy!”

Bellamy was quite honestly shocked by how happy Murphy looked. He’d shown up at his cell, expecting another dreary, heart-wrenching visit, but instead Murphy was smiling and bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid at a zoo.

“What’s up?” he asked tilting his head to the side, raising an eyebrow, and breaking into an irrepressible smile brought on by the sight of the other boy’s. 

“Tomorrow’s my privilege day!”

“Oh, right.” That was all? Bellamy couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed. Stupidly he’d been expecting a miracle. A foolproof plan to escape or something.

“Bell, please,” Murphy whined, his smile faltering. “Don’t act like that, it’s going to be fun.”

“What are you doing for it, then?” Bellamy asked, trying to muster his smile back up onto his lips and good naturedly play along.

“Cake! Bellamy!”

Bellamy couldn’t help but laugh now, his smile the genuine article. Murphy was damn adorable when he was in good spirits. He loved seeing him like this. He hadn’t thought he’d get the chance to see Murphy smile again.

“And I get to go outside…Bell, I haven’t been under the sun in six years.” He sounded more serious now, a bit melancholy, but still excited. And no wonder. Bellamy definitely understood why it was such a big deal now.

“Holy shit, wow…Sounds great, then Murph.”

“Even better, though…a guard has to keep watch over me while I’m out there and if you could somehow worm your way into being that guard…We’d be more alone than ever.” Murphy grinned at him, winking suggestively, and Bellamy thought he was going to faint. He suddenly felt like the temperature of the building had risen by a thousand degrees. He could hardly breathe. He was already so damn turned on. He’d give anything to be able to go into Murphy’s cell and pin him down against his cot. But he’d have to wait.

Just one day and he might get to do something with Murphy he’d never dreamed they’d get the chance to do.

He swallowed and took a much needed breath. “Wow,” he repeated shakily. “Yeah, I’ll definitely look into worming my way into that position, err…I mean…” He gave up on speaking and simply laughed, grinning like a fool and feeling better than he had in an age.

* * *

***

Oh he’d wormed. He’d made damn sure to worm. There was no way he was going to let this opportunity pass them by.

He was watched by a couple of guards as he assisted Murphy out of his cell, he handled him somewhat roughly, holding his arms together behind his back and shoving him forward instead of letting him walk at his own pace. It was all an act of course, and Murphy was being just as defiant in return, pushing back against him, and generally being ridiculously sexy. He couldn’t wait till they got outside.

Once they broke out into the oh-so-miniscule prison grounds the other guards simply filed back into the building, trusting Bellamy to handle this little venture on his own. There weren’t enough guards for the prison to dedicate more than one to this task.

The grounds were small, the fences were high, and the grass was dead. This area had gone uncared for because it was rarely used anymore. Back when the prison was first opened, the convicts had regularly gotten time outside, but the quality of life here had degraded throughout the years, and soon no one bothered to give the juveniles their daily taste of sunlight. Now the grounds were only used on days like this. Privilege days. Typically set two or so weeks before an execution date. The last taste of light and life before death. 

Bellamy immediately released Murphy once they were alone, and the boy spun around to face him with a wide smile on his face.

“This is the only shot we're going to get at this, so we'd better make it good.”

Bellamy chuckled and nodded in agreement. 

“Now, obviously I’ve never done this before…Have you?” Murphy asked, sounding somewhat nervous and far less cocky than he usually did. 

Bellamy could feel slight embarrassment dust his cheeks as he slowly shook his head. 

Murphy gazed at him silently for a moment before he resolutely nodded his head. “Okay. Well I don't really even _know_ how to do it, given that I was locked away at twelve and never got to take sex-ed or any shit like that, plus, I’ve never known anyone gay before, so…” He cut himself off mid-rant, blushing himself by this point. 

Bellamy had been so horny and excited before, that he hadn't considered the logistics of it, but now he was anxious and worried that he'd make a fool of himself. Murphy really wouldn't ever be able to do this again, so he was desperate not to wreck it.

“We’ll just play it by ear,” he whispered, slowly closing the gap between them. He put his hand on Murphy’s cheek and pulled him into a rough kiss, his crotch already burning for relief and begging him to skip the foreplay. 

He moved his hand down along Murphy’s torso, feeling the skinny body tucked away beneath his shirt. He tugged at the hem of that shirt and lifted it away in one clumsy swoop. He hungrily admired Murphy’s body, noting that, yes, the boy was quite skinny, but managed to pull off his scrawny physique quite well. He moved his hands along Murphy’s bare chest, loving the feeling of his skin, of his warmth.

Murphy grabbed at the hem of Bellamy’s shirt, urging him to take his off, as well, and he obliging did so. Soon they were both half-naked and their chests were pressed together, the beats of their frantic hearts alternating with each other, but it wasn’t enough.

Bellamy hurriedly undid the buttons of his pants and watched as Murphy did the same. They both kicked their trousers away, not caring a lick if their clothes got dirty from the dying foliage.

Bellamy could see the prominent outline of Murphy’s cock beneath his plain blue boxers and he eagerly snaked his hands down towards it, touching it through the material and listening to the noise this gesture evoked. He grinned, loving this already, though he still hadn’t a clue what he was doing, really. 

Murphy was breathing heavily, and he supposed that he was, too, though to him it felt like he was hardly breathing, like he couldn’t get enough air.

Murphy slowly reached out a hesitant hand to palm at Bellamy’s dick, and he couldn’t help but shudder. He was sick to death of his constricting underwear, but he was even more done with Murphy’s.

He fingered the hem of the boy’s boxers and asked permission to pull them down with his eyes. Murphy nodded his consent and Bellamy hurriedly tugged them down till they were around Murphy’s ankles. 

Murphy was bare now, standing awkwardly, cool air blowing around him and lust in his eyes. Without anything to stop him, Bellamy wrapped his hand around the base of Murphy’s cock and the boy nearly lost it. He groaned, panting softly and struggling to catch his breath enough to speak. “Let's keep this even,” he whined, reaching over to force Bellamy's own boxers off of him.

Bellamy felt exposed and a bit insecure, as no one except his mother had ever seen this much of him before. But there was an appreciative glint in Murphy's eyes that he found very reassuring.

“Are you ready?” Bellamy asked, his voice deep with desire, though it was shaking a little. 

Murphy nodded silently and watched curiously as Bellamy sat down on the grass. Bellamy smiled fondly at him and patted the spot on the ground next to him, urging the other boy to join him. Obligingly, and much more willing to take orders than he usually was, Murphy joined him. 

“Get on your stomach,” Bellamy whispered in what he hoped was a seductive voice.

Murphy nodded and did so, his ass up in the air and his eyes conveying yearning mixed with worrying. When Bellamy took to licking his fingers he looked especially concerned.

“We don’t have lube,” Bellamy explained, blushing crimson.

“Don’t even know what that is,” Murphy mumbled, still watching him. He seemed almost impatient now, though.

Bellamy chuckled and whispered, “You really are innocent aren’t you?” To which he got no reply.

He then placed the palms of his hands flat against Murphy’s butt, gently squeezing, which made the boy squirm and laugh good-humoredly. Bellamy himself smiled before he took a deep breath and mentally steeled himself for what he was doing. He’d heard Miller talk shop about this before. He knew the general steps, he could do it. No problem.

He traced the crack of Murphy’s ass with one of his wet fingers, before slowly plunging it in. Murphy let out a soft cry, and Bellamy would’ve worried that he'd hurt him, except that he knew enough to know that this wasn’t supposed to be too comfortable at first.

Still, though, just to be on the safe side he asked, “You okay?”

Murphy offered a muted, “Yes,” and Bellamy stuck another finger in, as his own cock throbbed and ached, and generally urged him to hurry things up.

Murphy was breathing fast, moaning every time Bellamy moved his fingers the slightest bit and his body was sweating.

Bellamy moved his fingers apart and together again, both to stretch Murphy out, and simply to elicit some more of those beautiful noises from him. Finally, the time had come, and he moved closer to Murphy, climbing on top of him and straddling his backside. He took his fingers out and lined himself up so that his dick could take their place, then he slowly lowered his body.

At first it felt so strange to have hot, tight muscles around him, but very, very soon it dawned him that no, actually it felt incredible. And plus, this wasn’t just any ass he was riding, this was Murphy’s, and he was a lucky bastard.

Murphy had let out another yelp, seemingly both uncomfortable and surprised by the sudden sensation of being filled, but he quickly relaxed into it and was soon moaning again.

Bellamy lifted and lowered his body, thrusting into Murphy as best his untrained body could. He knew that he was supposed to be hitting something certain, he couldn’t remember what it was called, but he was eagerly searching for it, wanting to find it before he came, which he thought he was already perilously close to doing. He’d wanked before, of course, a million lonely times, but it had been nothing like this. Nowhere near as warm, loving, and amazing as this.

Eventually he found it. His pace had been increasing and he’d been being a bit rougher, so when Murphy'd screamed he’d been terrified. But then he’d made out the urgent words, “There. Hit there again!” leaving Murphy’s lips, and he’d smiled, knowing he’d found it. Whatever _it_ was.

So he’d hit that spot again, and again, listening to Murphy whine and moan, and feeling the pressure in his groin building until he knew he was going to be finished soon.

He reached down beneath Murphy and found the other boy’s dick and began working it as he often did his own, wanting them to come at roughly the same time.

He moved his hands up and down Murphy’s shaft at the same rhythm and tempo as he moved his own cock in and out of Murphy’s ass. They were both breathless by this point and knew they couldn’t last much longer.

And they didn’t. Bellamy came first with Murphy trailing not too far behind.

“Damn...” Murphy mumbled, once they were both lying back on the grass, panting and sticky. “I’m definitely glad I got to do that before I die. Don’t give a shit about cake anymore, though.”

Bellamy, tilted his head to look over at Murphy, grinning like an idiot. They both laughed stupidly before sitting up and looking about for their abandoned clothing, though it was clear they wished they didn’t have to put them back on.

* * *

***

He didn’t feel changed by not being a virgin anymore, or anything, but he did feel changed by loving Murphy.

And he felt panic-stricken by the fact that they only had one more week together.

He smiled sadly as he watched Murphy eat the grapes he’d brought him. Despite what he’d said, Murphy had wound up really enjoying his cake, apparently. Not as much as the sex, but still quite a lot. Bellamy had been meaning to bring him some articles of real genuine food for ages to make up for the protein paste shit he was being fed here, but he hadn’t gotten the chance until now. It was surprisingly hard to sneak food out of the break room and down to the rows of cells.

Murphy ripped off a bite of hard bread and happily popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly in order to savor the taste. “Thanks, Bell,” he whispered softly as he swallowed and began tearing off another chunk.

Bellamy turned his eyes down towards the tiled floor and nodded. “Welcome,” he whispered back.

They were quiet now. Neither of them seemed to have had enough strength to maintain their anger towards the world. Now they were just tired and resigned.

Murphy was going to die in seven days. That was all there was to it, no point in fighting it, no use in raging against the coming tempest. It was inevitable.

So now they sat in companionable silence more often, just enjoying the fact that they were still with each other. They were always caught up in their own thoughts, as they had become increasingly difficult to break free from. 

“So…When do you get out of this place?” Murphy asked, disrupting the quiet for the first time in nearly ten minutes.

“What do you mean?”

“When’s your service up?”

“Oh, after a year or so more they’ll give me a choice what I want to do next. Stay on, go home, get transferred to another branch of military, whatever,” Bellamy mumbled, shrugging. This topic of conversation was making him somewhat uncomfortable. 

“Hm. Well, what’re you gonna choose to do?” Murphy himself didn’t sound especially enthralled by his own questions, but he seemed to simply want to talk, not caring too much what it was they talked about. Bellamy could understand that well. Sometimes one's thought were simply too much to be alone with.

“Go home, for sure. I’ve had enough of this shit.”

Murphy nodded, biting a grape in half with his front teeth. “See your mom?”

“Yeah.” _And Octavia._ God, it'd be good to see them again. Especially after he’s lost Murphy. The thought of what will transpire in a week makes him wish that he could crawl into his mother’s arms and sob against her chest, clinging close and refusing to ever face the world again. 

“Wish I could meet her.”

“I wish you could too, Murph.”

Murphy sighed, staring down glumly at the floor which was now bare of food. “Bell…I um…You…You’ve been good, Bell. So thanks for that. I’ve really liked these last few months more than any others, and while that kinda pisses me the fuck off, because why’d you have to come so close to the end you absolute asshole? I still love you, and thank you…” Murphy trailed off, red-faced and still staring down at the floor.

Bellamy grinned ever-so-slightly, saddened by Murphy’s words, pleased by them, and amused by just how very _Murphy_ they had been. “I know I’m an asshole. I can agree with you wholeheartedly there, and I love you, too, you dope. You have nothing to thank me for. You’ve been good to me, too,” he said hurriedly, needing to get the words out quickly lest he forgot anything he wanted to say.

Murphy tried to smile at him as he lifted his gaze from the floor, but the expression fell short, and he still just looked downright depressed. “I’m tired but I don’t want to sleep,” he whispered, his voice quivering.

“Just sleep, Murph, it’s okay, I’ll stay here for a bit and keep you company.”

“No, I mean, thanks, but it’s not that,” Murphy told him, shaking his head. “I just don’t want to waste the time. I have so little left.”

Bellamy nodded, sighing and combing his fingers through his hair. “I can understand that.”

“And…and I’ve been having stupid ass nightmares, Bellamy. I’m so damn scared! I’m sorry, I’ve tried to keep from talking to you about this, because I didn’t want to bum you out or anything, but you’re the only person who I can really talk to about anything important, and Bellamy, I’m just so scared.” Tears were tumbling down his cheeks again and Bellamy wished that he could hold him. 

“Murphy…It won’t hurt. I swear, it won’t. The stuff, all it does is numb everything, shut it all down. That’s what Abby and Clarke told me, and they’d know right?” He was aware that he sounded wired and tensed, that he was still speaking fast, but he was desperate to convince Murphy that it’d be as okay as dying could ever be. “And I’m sure there’s an after, I’m sure. And you’re a good person, so you’ll make it to the good after. And your father will be there. Time will pass by quickly and before you know it, I’ll be there too. We’ll both be free, Murphy. Free to touch, to love, to spend our eternity together.”

“Nice dream,” Murphy whispered in monotone. “I want that, too. And I know you want that now, but the problem is that you have a lifetime to live before that eternity. You’ll forget all about that boy you loved for a couple of months as a teenager before it ends. There’s no way that you won’t, I wouldn’t even ask you not to. But it does make me sad.”

“I won’t forget you!” Bellamy quickly exclaimed, wrapping his fingers around the bars, making eye-contact with Murphy and holding to it. “No matter what. I promise. You’ll always be my first love. The special one that I’m never going to stop longing for.”

“Well, thanks…I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

Of course, Bellamy was hurt that Murphy would rather do the dreaded deed of sleeping than continue talking to him, but there was nothing he could do about it. So, he simply watched as Murphy crawled back onto his cot and he mentally ticked off a day in his mind.

Six to go.

* * *

***

Tomorrow.

This was it. Their last evening together. This was all they had.

“Let’s see…I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want my last words to you to be, because obviously, they have to be incredible and life-altering and all…”

“Obviously.”

“But I need to save them for later. Right now I need to give you something.”

Bellamy waited expectantly as Murphy fished about under his mattress and pulled out a folded-over piece of paper.

“What is it?” Bellamy asked impatiently.

“Clearly it’s a letter, dimwit. But, and here’s the vitally important part, I’ll kill you if you read this before I’m dead, got it?” Murphy was standing over him now, the paper dangling from his fingers. He was trying to look threatening, but he just looked beautiful and fragile, instead.

“Got it,” Bellamy whispered, nodding his thanks as Murphy passed the letter to him.

“I haven’t ever written much, so if you judge my writing skills, or handwriting for that matter, that will also result in you being killed, unfortunately.”

“Okay,” Bellamy agreed, always a willing participant in his boyfriend’s stupid antics.

Murphy took a seat in front of him, his legs crossed over each other. “Here’s another rule for the night, I forbid you from being sad.”

Bellamy’s lips curled up ever-so-slightly, undeniably amused. “Oh do you?” he asked, dubiously.

“I do,” Murphy told him, his expression haughty, his following nod resolute. “We’re going to have fun tonight, dammit. For tomorrow we may die!” He laughed at his own morbid humor, a faint grin on his face.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, having to resist the urge to wince. His own sense of humor wasn't quite as dark as Murphy’s. This night was clearly going to be hard to get through. He owed it to Murphy to try his best to keep his spirits out of the dumps, though.

“What do you want to do then, Murph?”

“Well, wish we could have sex, but that’s unfortunately not an option, so…Tell me a story?”

“A story? What kind?”

“Something from your life. About your family or something.”

Bellamy should’ve saw this coming. He should’ve known that something within him was going to refuse to let him part from Murphy without first telling him about Octavia. The fact that the boy he loved didn’t know he had a sister just felt too damn unnatural, and it bothered him. And he trusted Murphy now. With every fiber of his being he knew the boy wouldn’t betray him.

“Well, Murphy, lean close to the bars and I’ll tell you a secret.”

He could tell that he had the convict's interest peaked, and Murphy quickly scooted close to the bars. Bellamy put his lips against Murphy’s ear, it was practically like he was kissing it before he began to speak. “I have a sister, Murph. A little sister named Octavia who means almost everything to me. She’s had to spend her life under the floorboards because of Pop Laws, but she’s incredible and I know that you guys would love each other.”

Murphy leaned away from him, a soft smile evident at the very corners of his lips. “I’m sure we would, Bell. Or, at least, I know I’d love her, can’t really say how’d she’d feel about me. I think I’m kind of an acquired taste.”

Bellamy grinned and nodded. “I think you probably are, but you’re my taste.”

“Good.” Murphy put his head against the bars, his mouth peaking through the metal, and Bellamy knowingly moved forward again, pecking his lips against Murphy’s.

They’d become masters at kissing through the bars and had no qualms about doing so. Bellamy wish he could touch Murphy more, wished they could travel back in time to his privilege day, but this was all they had now, and Bellamy relished it.

“Stay here tonight, Bellamy, all night. Be here with me when they come to get me, please?”

Bellamy knew it was risky. Someone might notice he’d never come to his bunk or they may be confused as hell as to why he’d been loitering about the cell block in the early hours of the morning, but he didn’t care. He’d take the risk. There was nothing they could do to them now. They were already going to be separated tomorrow. Murphy was already going to die. Really, let them do their worst.

“Alright, Murph. I’ll stay here.”

Murphy smiled and entwined their fingers together through the bars. “Good. Oh, and Bellamy? Thanks for telling me your secret.”

“Anytime. I trust you almost as much as I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

***

Bellamy was so damn tired. He’d gotten no sleep whatsoever, of course, he hadn’t. That would have been a dreadful waste of his last few hours with Murphy.

It was morning now, the lights in the cell block were bright and they could hear footsteps reverberating through the hallway.

“Showtime,” Murphy whispered, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck…Wait, Murph, hurry before they get here, what were your last words to me going to be?” Bellamy asked frantically, desperate to hear them.

Murphy shrugged, yawning. “Don’t even remember, Bell. Just…just, I love you, ok? That’s the takeaway.”

“I love you, too.”

And then the guards were upon them, and Murphy’s cell was unlocked, and he was being manhandled by harried soldiers who just wanted to get this over with.

Bellamy trailed after Murphy and has captors like a somnambulist. His body was on autopilot, and his mind was shutting down.

Soon they were all in that dreadful room. The one Bellamy had never seen the interior of before. It almost looked like a regular doctor’s office. All white and sterile. But there were one-way mirrors on the walls and a chair with straps in the center.

They used that chair to strap Murphy down, fastening his limbs so that he couldn’t so much as squirm. The entire time Murphy kept his gaze locked on Bellamy, and Bellamy didn’t allow his eyes to waver much, either.

Abby walked into the room and Bellamy was genuinely surprised to see her, he didn’t know what she was doing there. Eventually though, his brain connected the dots and it all made sense. Of course she was the one who killed them, or injected them, executed them, put them to sleep, whatever stupid euphemism one wanted to use.

She met Bellamy’s eyes, her thin lips locked and pursed, her expression stony. Bellamy begged her for mercy with his gaze, though he knew that none would be forthcoming. 

She was already holding the syringe.

“Abby, it doesn’t hurt right?” Murphy asked, his voice so very small and quiet.

Abby shook her head and set a hand on his shoulder. “No, honey, it’s quick and painless. I promise.”

She pulled the sleeve of his shirt back, revealing a long patch of his pale, smooth skin and moved the needle down towards it. Bellamy and Murphy were back to staring into each other’s eyes, and Bellamy was so close to screaming his lungs out for this madness to stop, even if he knew that it wouldn’t do any good.

Bellamy’s gaze momentarily flickered down to the needle just in time to see it plunge down into Murphy’s arms, and when he looked back up at Murphy’s face, his eyelids were batting closed.

Bellamy stayed standing still as a statue, feeling everything and nothing all at once.

“Bellamy?” He hardly even recognized his own name. “There’s nothing more to see, you should get back to your post.” It was Abby’s voice, soft but stern, sympathetic, though it belonged to a killer.

Bellamy was still staring at Murphy’s still body, maintaining eye-contact with the closed eyes of a corpse. “I loved him,” he whispered, not sure why he was telling Abby this, but needing to tell someone.

“I know,” Abby told him, nodding her head. “But he isn’t in here anymore, and you shouldn’t be, either.”

“Abby…What are they going to do with his ashes?”

“I’ll make sure you get them.”

Bellamy took a heavy, shaky breath, glad that maybe he wasn’t such a coward after all. He walked forward, kissed the top of Murphy’s head and left the room.

He immediately read the letter, because he’d never been so desperate to read anything in his life. He needed badly to know what it said.

_BELL,_

_IF YOU ARE READING THIS I AM DEAD. Sorry. I just saw the opportunity to say that, and I had to take it, you know?_

_But, really, I’m dead, and I guess you’re probably kinda sad about that, maybe. So, again, sorry about dying now. It’s not really very convenient for me either, and I wish I could reschedule it._

_I wish a lot of things, though. That I could have loved you longer, mainly. Got a shitty house together, drunkenly purposed, spontaneously adopted a little snot-nosed brat. But I guess, instead of all that, if you’re reading this, I’m just plain old dead._

_Shit. That sucks._

_Almost as much as this letter._

_Sorry. I meant to write something meaningful, but best-laid schemes and all that. So instead, you get this rambling shit. Sorry, again._

_I just want this to be something you can look back at when you miss me. Or you can wipe your ass with it, either way._

_I don’t want you to miss me for long. Really, Bell, I mean that. You deserves happiness and I hope you find it soon._

_Even if that means forgetting me, I guess. Because you’re the one who’s alive, and you’re the one who has to keep living, and I want you to enjoy doing that. Living, I mean._

_I’m sure there’s a world of gorgeous guys out there (who aren’t dead) who would adore your stupid face. So find one? And then maybe he can drunkenly purpose to you._

_Which I’m totally not jealous about._

_Or hell, maybe it’ll be a cute girl, I don’t even know how many ways you swing._

_All I know is that I’ve loved you. A whole hell of a lot. Goodbye, Bellamy._

_Don’t forget to give me a ring once you make it to the great beyond, yeah?_

_‐Love♡ John Murphy_

***

* * *

**I can't believe I wrote this shit. I'm going to hell. In my defense, for my first time writing smut, not that bad, right? Also I wrote the first half of this like two years before the second half, so it was a weird process.**

**Still though, hate myself for this mess. Yay.**

**_Some of you might want me to finish my other Murphamy fic, but I'm a giant bastard, honestly and have never been able to think of an ending._ **


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